


Weeki Wachee

by TheBlackestFrost



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 21:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21309001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackestFrost/pseuds/TheBlackestFrost
Summary: While looking for information, Laura and Sweeney meet with a passionate species.
Relationships: Laura Moon/Mad Sweeney
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	Weeki Wachee

We’ll try Florida, he'd said. Gotta know if they’re planning to join, he’d said, gotta make sure they're out of the game or else we're all fuckin' lost.

And now she’s standing on a beach, staring out over the water, and feeling a pull despite the impact it will have on her decaying body.

She wants to run her fingers through the foam at least, and steps towards it when-

“Best stay back.”

She stops, glancing down at the big hand in her way but carefully not touching her. He’s staring straight ahead, the cigarette he’d lit while exiting the car dangling from his lips. He doesn’t bother looking at her, keeping his eyes on the calm, still water in front of them.

Before she can ask him what the fuck he’s doing he’s closing his eyes and taking a deep, cleansing breath and though she can’t smell it herself she knows he’s filling his lungs with salt water, the heat of the day still warming the sand, the sharp tang of seaweed and fish. She watches a moment as he stands there, eyes far away, before deciding this shit has gone on long enough and poking him hard in the ribs.

“Ow, fuck off.”

She stares at him and then pointedly looking at his hand, still blocking her path, “are you protecting me from the big bad ocean?”

He scoffs, and shakes his head, turning back to the water. He removes his cigarette and sighs, before he starts to whistle.

It’s low and quiet, but she picks up a clear song in the sound, and Laura feels a pricking against her neck, all too aware that she is about to witness yet another God Thing™. The sound picks up, and she briefly enjoys the light melody, something lilting and playful and whispering. Soon she hears not a whistle, but a call.

She follows his eyes and sees it then, the ripple. It’s subtle, at first she thinks it’s the breeze, but it’s moving slowly to the shore in an unnaturally straight line, and then she sees another, and another.

He holds out the wooden combs he made them stop to buy, placing them carefully on the large rock and turning to her with serious eyes and gesturing for her to move back again. When she doesn’t move he shoots her an exasperated look.

“Just…back up. They can be jealous.”

By now she’s so curious about what is happening that she decides to relent, moving back a few paces so she can still clearly see his face, the rock, the combs, and the ripples.

The ripples stop near the rock and for a moment she thinks she must have imagined everything but then suddenly there it is – a hand. And another, long fingers with webbing between, strong arms and then a face, similar enough to human to be considered beautiful, alien enough to be considered dangerous. Large eyes are completely black, but the lips are red, teeth white, pronounced cheekbones and ears curving into dainty points.

Laura is grateful that she doesn't need to breathe, because she’s not sure how well she’d be doing seeing three mermaids pulling themselves gracefully onto the rock while Mad Sweeney stands very still. Two of the mermaids are dark, bronze skin with a gleam that’s almost metallic, while the third is paler with black hair twisting over a shoulder. Their chests are bare (and if she was prone to it, Laura might feel self-conscious, the creatures all heavy breasts and sensuous curves), stomachs dipping to long, long tails that disappear into the water.

The three of them have not even glanced at Sweeney, silently inspecting the combs, looking at them cautiously and then each picking them up and smiling delightedly. They turn to him and the smallest mermaid gives a delighted shriek of recognition before the other two break into a strange language Laura couldn’t place if you paid her, their tones warm and welcoming.

Mad Sweeney, standing in the setting sun, answers back in what she assumes in Old Irish because it’s what he sometimes lapses into when drunk or extremely tired. Whatever he’s speaking they seem fine to understand, and for a moment she watches a leprechaun chatting with three mermaids and wonders what exactly her life (death) was.

The tallest of the mermaids has dropped her tone to something dark and sensuous, reaching elongated fingers out to stroke at Mad Sweeney’s chest while her compatriots share secretive smiles. She arches up as if to kiss him but he’s faster, snatching up her hand and holding her eyes while he places a hungry, reverent kiss on her knuckles before pressing it gently towards her and stepping back with a shake of his head.

Whatever he says is murmured now, and the mermaid with black hair stops suddenly, narrowing her eyes at him. He stills and Laura gets the distinct impression that they’re sniffing something out without scent, focusing intently on him as if searching for clues.

He’s grinding his teeth but staying still, even when the black haired mermaid snaps out a hand and slaps him across the cheek. It’s as if they’re trying to pull something from him without words.

Whatever they’re looking for, they find.

Three pairs of sharp obsidian eyes turn in her direction. The mermaid with skin the colour of bronze and sodden curls tangled with fish bones raises her lip in a snarl and Laura suspects she’s not the most popular person on the beach at the moment. Before she is forced to find out how quickly mermaids can move on land he speaks again, sharply, the lightness gone and his tone firm.

The tallest mermaid shakes her head, dark curls shifting over her shoulders, and responds in a clipped, formal manner. The conversation continues and he nods his head.

The smallest mermaid curls a finger at him and he leans down, closing his eyes as she whispers something into his ear. Whatever she says makes him flinch, his eyes opening and moving uncomfortably towards the beach. He shakes his head once, and the mermaid laughs, a bubbly sound.

He watches them collect their offerings, tangling wooden combs into their hair before they disappear under the surface. He turns back to her, the sun behind him almost set, a halo around his head that doesn’t quite blind her to the bruising on his cheekbone.

“They say Wednesday tried to pull them in but that the sea has no quarrel with the land, and no interest in watching New Gods or Old pretend to care.”

He’s lighting another cigarette and she considers him a moment. “You thought that would be the case, didn’t you?”

He nods. “Ocean’s far bigger, deeper, darker, more magical than anybody living could hope ta realise. People been believing and fearing and offering since the dawn o’ time; there’s little for sea folk to gain in this nonsense.”

He looks out over the water again and exhales smoke into the night and looks far away in a good memory so she rolls her eyes.

“Passionate species, huh?”

He gives her a shit eating grin and she’s well aware that she’s risen to bait and despite knowing she should be pissed she can’t help her lips twitching into a smile. He’s in a good mood, salt water and the opportunity to get a rise out of her warming him, and before he considers what he’s doing he slings an arm around her shoulders.

She doesn’t shove him off and he pulls her against him obnoxiously, leaning down close to her ear.

“Don’t worry, love", the tone is warm and she feels his breath move her hair. "They still don't smell nearly as bad as you."

She punches him in the stomach, hard enough that he lands on his knees while she walks back to the car before he can see her smile.

When they’re driving again she glances at him, curious, but he answers before she can ask, his tone amused and final.

“None o’ your business, that’s how.”

She decides to accept it, unprepared to discover exactly how sex with a half woman half fish goes, and settles on mocking him instead.

“Was that your first taste of bestiality?”

He snorts, “I was a bird for a time, that count?”

She rolls her eyes, “OK, sure.” The car is silent for a few beats before she remembers something.

“Wait, what did they whisper in your ear?”

He doesn't smile now, nor does he meet her eyes, and she knows anything he says will probably be a lie. She waits anyway, wanting to know what the mermaids saw, but the silence stretches and she's not willing (or brave enough, honest enough, prepared enough) to break it.

Later, when they've pulled over so he can sleep while she stares at the stars, she runs her knuckles over her dry lips, presses a kiss against them, and imagines. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
